Psychic Rehab
by SomeKindofAuthor
Summary: "My name is Angel, and I have a problem." For two years, Angel manipulated Max and Fang, pulling their puppet strings so that everything in their relationship went smoothly. Now they can no longer trust her, so she must be sent away with Jeb to psychic rehab. Sequel to my one-shot Severed Strings.
1. Chapter 1

** Summary: **My name is Angel, and I have a problem.

**Psychic Rehab**

Chapter One

"My name is Angel, and I have a problem." Angel put all the sarcasm she'd ever picked up from Max and dumped it into that one false confession.

Jeb nodded. "That's the first step, Angel."

"My problem is an ungrateful flock," she snapped.

Jeb sighed and rubbed his temples. "A step in the wrong direction, unfortunately." He placed the rest of his files in his laptop bag and zipped it up.

"What are you going to do with me? Don't treat me like I'm some stupid kid."

"You're far from stupid, Angel. You are extremely intelligent."

"Yeah, I know." The fatal fault of most grown-ups was underestimating kids. Just because they hadn't finished high school (or finished kindergarten for that matter) didn't mean they weren't smart enough to bat their baby-blues and trick you into looking the other way while they stole your wallet, secrets and pride.

"The problem is not your incredible mind. The problem is that you don't know how to use it."

In a sing-song voice, Angel said "'With great power comes great responsibility.' Spiderman."

"Correct." Maybe Jeb missed her mocking tone.

"Yeah, and I _had_ a responsibility. My flock. Max wasn't doing a good job, so I just stepped in. I _helped_."

Jeb drew from his collection of papers to look at Angel for a moment. "What if," he mused, "they didn't want your help, Angel?"

"Didn't want it? They _needed_ it. They were _happy_. They forget that I made them happy, but I _did_. We were _happy_."

"They aren't happy _now_, Angel. Think about all the pain you've caused your flock by controlling their lives for years. You knew that it was going to end sometime." Jeb adopted his favorite look. The one that went, _I know you don't understand now, but you will, someday. _Angel hated that look. What didn't she understand? And if she didn't get something, why sit there with your hands folded on the table, brown eyes intently fixed on her? Waiting for agreement, a nod, a stupid _Yes, Jeb, I understand_, _you were right all along._

Angel would never say that.

She zipped her lips closed and tucked the key into the furthest recess of her mind.

"You didn't think about the consequences because, despite your intellect, you are still a child. I believe Max entrusted me with your care because she wanted me to guide you into adulthood. The School blessed you with a mind capable of calculating strategy Sun Tzu would be envious of, but unfortunately they didn't see the consequences of placing that mind on an underdeveloped brain."

"So what are you going to do with me?" Because of course her life was now in the hands of one Jeb Batchelder.

"First, I'll take you away from here. You're too comfortable in this environment to think about changing. Next, I'll give you a series of exercises both for my observations and for your growth. Then you'll meet a friend of mine."

Angel stayed silent.

"Angel. Are you going to come willingly?"

This sucked. It sucked so completely that she had to ask what her next move was going to be, that she wasn't in control of what was happening to her because Max and Fang and Jeb had decided that this was best. _What do they know? They don't know anything. They couldn't even manage to keep the flock together, and now they think they can send me away?_

"The flock needs me. How is Max going to save the world without me?"

"She'll have to manage. Truthfully, you'll be more of a burden to her now. Even after this program, it will still take her a while—maybe years—to fully develop the kind of trust she needs for you to return to her team."

Years away from the flock? Separated from her family for… years?

_Oh, but that's right, _Angel thought with a distinct lump in her throat. _They all hate me now. I'm not their family anymore. I'm not her baby girl anymore. _

Angel couldn't help it. Suddenly, she was a little girl without a mom and with no one else to claim her. Max had claimed her before, but now she didn't want Angel anymore.

Angel started to cry.

"I'm not going away! You can't make me! You can't-!"

She started to throw mental blows to Jeb's mind, attacking him, barraging him with everything in her power. Of course her psychic attacks were useless. He didn't even flinch. He sat there, watching her exhaust her mind. Her face scrunched up, all muscles tensed, grunting from the force of the fruitless assaults on Jeb Batchelder, the only shield that ever held strongly against her power without breaking.

They stayed in that dynamic until Angel fainted from fatigue.

She woke up moving. Her head rested against something vibrating, and when she looked up, she found that she was looking out a window with country scenery zooming past her.

She was in a car, driving who knows where, riding further and further away from her flock.

She looked across the seat and found that Celeste was propped next to her along with three burritos. Breakfast. Oh, so Jeb was trying to take care of her.

Whatever.

Angel's head throbbed, taking revenge on its host for pushing it beyond its limits.

_Work with me here, brain, _Angel coached it. _I just need one more thing._

She reached out to find the one member of the flock who might help her. Gazzy,

"Gazzy…"

His eyes bore into the horizon, singling out a speck of air a million miles away and glaring it into non-existence. He'd been out here for ages, feeling both the heat of the sunrise and the chill of the sunset. Time didn't bother him even though it had been half a day since he could actually see the car that had carted her away, severing the ties that bound her to the flock.

"She's my sister." His voice came out as a low croak, unused since yesterday when he'd stopped speaking.

Max scooted a little closer to him on the branch. "She's my sister, too."

He snorted.

"Gazzy! I gave her to Jeb to _help_ her, not because I wanted her to leave."

Gazzy's glare was too focused, so he couldn't roll his eyes, but he did give a bitter laugh. He wasn't fooled.

"You wanted her to leave."

"I…" Max crossed her arms, and turned to look to the distance. "Yeah. I did. Only because—"

"You were scared of her. Of what she'd do." Gazzy's tone was so clipped, so matter-of-fact that Max paused a little before answering.

"Yeah."

Gazzy sighed. "That's not what she wanted."

"She controlled us, me and Fang, for _years_—"

"I know." He didn't want to hear about his sister's faults, didn't want to see for the umpteenth time how Max felt about Angel. Mostly because he was afraid that her expression would mirror his own.

He hadn't tried to stop Jeb from taking her away. He hadn't pleaded her innocence because, let's face it, she was guilty of everything Max accused her of.

"This is the best for all of us."

He disagreed.

"She's my _sister_, Max." His focus on the distance was breaking; Max placed her arm around him, trying to tear him from the position he'd fixed himself to for the last eight hours, trying to get him to let her go.

_Don't let me go, Gazzy._

He jerked a bit, but years of blending into the background had given him enough experience to not let his surprise register in his expression.

He felt her smile in the back of his mind.

_Hey, big brother._

_… Hey._

"She's wrong, Gazzy."

_That's what they've been saying, but you know that's not true. You know I was just doing what I had to do, right? I was trying to help everybody. Things got better, didn't they?_

His breathing became shallow as his brain was crowded with another consciousness. He struggled to keep separate his thoughts thought for his conversation with Max.

"And with Jeb," Max continued, "maybe she'll learn right from wrong."

"You think Jeb can make her right? How can you even _trust_ him?"

"I trust him," Max insisted.

Angel was quiet on that subject, giving Gazzy the elbow-room in his mind that he needed to continue.

"I don't," Gazzy answered. "If she had a problem, we should have worked on it together. You shouldn't have sent her away."

Angel beamed. Her happiness came like a tsunami, a sudden rush of unbridled cheer that she forwarded to Gazzy's mind. He winced. Max noticed.

"Are you… is she in your head?" Max's tone of empathy was shoved aside by anger.

The Gasman balled his hands into fists. "She's not… _influencing_ me, if that's what you mean. She's just talking."

"You have to mentally hang up on her, Gazzy."

"I don't think she has to go away." At Max's wary look, he added, "And I mean this as _me_. As her brother. As the one who's… who's supposed to protect her."

"Do you think what she did to us was right?"

Gazzy waited for the little bird in the back of his mind to peck her protest, but he heard nothing. He avoided Max's look. "No," he answered.

"If I bring her back, and she thinks that what's best for the flock is to give us all puppet strings and guide us to whatever happily-ever-after she's got planned, would that be right?"

Frustration: "No, but—"

Max held her hand up to cut him off. Her expression softened allowing for empathy, now. She smiled a little. "But… but she's your sister, you love her, and you want to protect her. I understand that, believe me. But if you love her, you need to let her get the help she needs. Please, block her Gazzy."

Desperation sank its claws into his mind: Angel's desperation. She didn't say anything, but her fear traveled the link between them anyway, and the Gasman felt the full frontal blow of his little sister's reliance on him coupled with his own need to be relied on.

"I'm her brother." He clamped his eyes shut, and bit his fist.

"Gasman…"

_Gazzy…_

_You have to leave now, Angel._

_Don't do this! Please! You know they're wrong!_

_You're wrong._

_Don't do this!_

"There." The Gasman lost all will to keep his emotions in check. He let the tears flow, allowed his body to shake with the pain of knowing that he'd let his sister down in the worst way. "It's done."

Before Max could congratulate him on screwing over his only blood relation, he took off from the branch, heading in the direction opposite the sunset. Opposite west, as far from the temptation to rescue his sister as possible.

**A/N: Cleaning out my fanfiction closet. I haven't read the last three MaxRide books, so this takes place in an alternate universe somewhere before FANG. I wrote this all years ago, but decided to post what I had of it because I think it's a nice idea.**


	2. Denial

**Chapter 2. Denial**

"We're here."

Angel lifted her head from the car door, feeling the stickiness that came with an afternoon nap in a metal car engulfed in humidity. She wiped her eyes free from crust, put Celeste to the side, and peered out of the window.

Outside, blue sky and tan ground stretched on for miles. Angel cocked her head, looked past the driver's seat's headrest, through the windshield to the building the car was parked next to. A simple, one-story brick house. Its front face was flat; two windows framed by green shutters stared at them like indifferent eyes. Small green bushes lined the bottom of the house, with a break in the middle for the door. A gravel pathway twisted from the door to the curb where Jeb had parked. Other than the square green lawn on which the house sat, the house was an anomaly in an otherwise empty world. As though built especially for her.

The thought that her family might have been planning to lock her away for so long swept over her like suffocation, but a tap on her door by Jeb made her remember that she was still fighting. She couldn't give up yet.

"Where's 'here'?" she asked, feigning indifference.

Jeb stretched before turning to open Angel's door and gesturing _Come on out. _

"Aren't you afraid I'll fly away?" A false cockiness.

Jeb's smile seemed empty. He squatted on the ground next to Angel's seat as though approaching her level or something, rested his arms on his knees and looked intently to her. She stared straight ahead at the windshield. "Angel, I need your cooperation."

"No, you don't," she said. And maybe her fear was coming through in her tremulous rage, but she didn't care. "You _don't _need my cooperation, cause if you did, I wouldn't be here."

Jeb sighed, watched her for a while, waiting for even in a hint of change of heart. When he realized that no, she wasn't going to suddenly accept his kidnapping as at all necessary, he stood up and began getting things from the trunk.

With a suitcase in each hand a bag slung over his shoulder, he stopped next to her door. "Whenever you're ready," he said softly before heading toward the house, up the steps, and through the front door.

Now she was ready.

Angel sprang from the car, bent her knees, and pushed off from the ground. Her wings flapped furiously to give her ample speed and distance before Jeb could realize what was happening. She stretched her arms out in front of her, and couldn't keep from grinning; it was all she could do to hold back from screaming in delight. Really? They thought they could keep her? Seriously?

It just goes to show how _stupid_ some people—

She felt the sharp pain of electric shock, and then it went black.

When she woke up, she was in her bed. Her head's throbbing made it impossible to raise, so all she could do was stare at a blurry ceiling, trying to get her vision to focus. When the throbbing subsided to a dull ache, and she could make out the roses on the wallpaper without getting dizzy, she sat up.

Jeb was there, of course, sitting on the chair that leaned against the opposite wall of the small room. His hands were folded in his lap, and his eyes traced the perimeter of the room, eyeing the furniture and decorations, occasionally offering a nod of approval or a tsk that meant "I did not ask for _that_ color pink". He noticed she was awake and stopped the survey, his brow coming together in false sympathy.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like my wings have been clipped."

* * *

Her first night in this place, and the silence killed her.

This is exactly what Jeb wanted. For her to feel alone. Disconnected. Being surrounded by the flock's minds like open books had always made her feel like she belonged. But here in a small house with a person who had shut his mind from her, she felt constant rejection and isolation.

Angel tried to reach out, to stretch her mind to its limits to find a flock member so she would feel less lonely, but her search was fruitless. She had reached her limit.

Angel closed her eyes, rolled over on her side to face the wall, and gripped her pillow. Celeste was propped on the nightstand next to her bed. She didn't want to have to hold her teddy. How lame was that? She was ten for Pete's sake, and having dipped into the minds of adults all her life, she was practically a grown-up.

She reached to her left and grabbed Celeste's paw, drawing the bear into the bed.

She remembered how she got Celeste. Her mind. Her powers. A New York old lady, completely vulnerable to Angel's mental attacks and to the natural innocence in her wide blue eyes and soft pouting lips. Angel had felt an unparalleled rush of power; she almost pitied the rest of the world for never knowing the feeling dthat she could get anything that she wanted, that _any_ desire could be quenched with a flick of her mind.

She had never counted on the consequences.

Angel threw Celeste across the room, then willed herself to sleep.

* * *

She always woke before the sun. The shadow of preemptive strike strategy was on her sleep cycle. Give anyone the chance to attack just because she had been catching some Z's? Unforgivable. At first it had hurt her that she always had to be on the offensive—even when it was just her and her flock. But there are sacrifices that every leader must make, and if she had to sacrifice sleep and trust then so be it. In that case, Max was weaker than Angel. Sure, Max was the first birdkid to volunteer all-night watches. But the dirty stuff was not in knowing better than your body, fighting heavy eyelids muggy minds because you had to stay awake. It was knowing better than the people you loved, making hard decisions and acting on them even if you didn't see eye to eye. Max would never understand.

Angel pushed back the curtains. A single streak of deep red cut through the sky beckoning the start of a new day. There had been plenty of missions for the birdkids, either government- or Jeb-operated, so she had started many days not knowing where they would end. Except she always knew because her flock had developed a sort of invincibility. Today, however, she was stripped of that strength. She could neither exercise her physical or mental gifts—both had been taken away from her, and her vulnerability was as painful as it was irritating.

To regain some sense of control, she turned from the window with intention of exploring as much as she could on foot. Before she could open the door to her room, there was a knock on it. Jeb. Her heartbeat soared, and blood rushed to her head, drowning it in anger.

She toyed with the idea of pretending that she was still sleeping, but then was disgusted with her own cowardice.

She threw open the door.

"Good morning, Angel."

She glared at him and said nothing. Her fingers' grip on the doorknob was slipping from sweat, so she intensified her grip, digging indents into the metal so Jeb would only see her anger and not her fear.

"Max told me that you woke early. I do, as well. Isn't it useful that our schedules sync up?"

Angel made a mental note to set her alarm for at least an hour earlier.

Jeb wove his fingers together and sighed. His brown eyes looked down on her, not in impatience, but in pity. The indents in the doorknob grew deeper. "Breakfast will be ready in about an hour. You can do whatever you like until then. You can fly around so long as you don't go too far… but you already know that, don't you?" She decided that Jeb was smug, not because he sounded smug, but because everything in her was already geared toward the mission of hating him, and Angel was nothing if not dedicated.

"For breakfast I was thinking bacon, eggs, and toast. As much as your appetite can eat, of course, I haven't forgotten about that. No, our kitchen is fully stocked to accommodate at least four average American families, so that should satisfy the average birdkid for one, two meals?" Jeb chuckled at his own joke.

The doorknob had now fully condensed and fit perfectly in Angel's fist.

"After breakfast, you are, again, free to roam, minding the boundaries, but I suggest that you take advantage of the library or the television. I will be away for the rest of the morning, and loneliness can do terrible things to the mind."

Angel tore the doorknob from its socket and through it at Jeb's face. It tumbled to his chest and to the ground, but the soft _clink_ was not nearly as satisfying a sound as the furious Angel would have liked. She would have preferred a _kaboom_ or, even better, the sound of Jeb's desperate cries.

"When I return," Jeb began slowly, "we will have lunch. And after lunch, you will have a visitor."

* * *

"Nudge!"

Never mind that Nudge probably thought Angel was a psychopath. She couldn't keep herself from the arms of her sister-by-wings.

She also couldn't help but whisper, "Take me back" into Nudge's shoulder. It wasn't manipulation because she knew that Nudge was the most empathetic of the birdkids, both by power and by nature. It was desperation because Angel wanted her family back.

But instead of those words catalyzing escape planning or a Jeb-takedown, they caused Nudge to grip Angel's shoulders and push her away to arms' length. There, Nudge's large brown eyes scanned Angel's face, looking for something.

All Angel picked up from Nudge was the feeling of a constant search—with constant disappointment. And then—nothing. Jeb had stepped into the room, closing the door behind him as he stepped beside Nudge.

"I'm not here to take you back, Angel." Nudge's voice cracked. Her eyes widened, and she clutched her chest. Jeb put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed his thumb back and forth in comfort. "I'm here to help you."

Responding both to Jeb and to Nudge's words (so patronizing was the phrase "here to help" that Angel had taken an instinctive reaction), Angel shut down.

Jeb pushed gently on Nudge's shoulder, guiding her into the kitchen, his voice smoothly transitioning into nonchalant small-talk. Nudge responded with hesitant Nudge-ness, throwing glances back at Angel who had stayed behind at the door. Angel refused to meet Nudge's eye, not out of spite, but because she hadn't realized how crushing hope could be when it wasn't realized. Angel looked out the door and saw the expanse of sky. With a sigh, she swallowed tears, and followed Jeb into the kitchen.

"…and Max?" Jeb asked while pouring boiling water into a mug for Nudge who sat at the table, picking at a cookie.

"She's doing better, but you know how Max is with telling anyone that she's struggling because she sees the rest of us broken and has to hold us all together, forget about the fact that _she's_ falling apart."

Jeb filled another cup, gathered two tea bags from the cabinet, and sat down at the table. He looked up at Angel, who stood at the threshold of the hallway and the kitchen, and scooted a mug toward the empty seat. She sat down, pointing herself toward Nudge.

"How is my Flock?" Dammit. Her voice broke. She took a sip of her tea to make sure her weakness was never showed again, and peeked through her peripheral, but Jeb had gone. She hated to admit it, but she needed to study stealth from him. Without him knowing, of course.

Nudge's pink lips pressed together until they practically disappeared. Her fingers fidgeted from her cookie to her tea bag to her lap to her hair. "I don't know how to lie to you, Angel," she said. "Jeb said I'm not supposed to shelter you from the consequences of your actions, but I love you, and it hurts me to live it, it's gotta hurt you to hear about it—"

"I love you too, Nudge."

Jeb had figured out to stop Angel's powers in this place, but she still had the power of looking like the cherub she was named after. She lowered her head so that strands of blonde fell over her baby blues that peeked under long lashes.

Nudge put her hands over her mouth; they ended over her chest, her face twisted.

A moment of silence passed between them. A couple sips of tea. Eventually, Angel had to blink, and she worried that the effects of her eyes might be diminished, but no, Nudge still looked like a war was going on inside her head. Angel hoped that whatever part of Nudge was on the side of the exiled birdkid won.

"I love you, and I miss you," she added.

"I'm sorry," Nudge said quietly, looking at the table. "I'm really sorry, but I have to stick to my mission."

"Mission?"

Nudge nodded. She rummaged through her purse and brought out a necklace. Its chain was skinny and silver, and it linked to a heart in which a subtle blue diamond was set. It looked familiar, but Angel couldn't quite place it. Nudge arranged the necklace on the table, making a perfect circle with the chain, pointing the heart at a perfect ninety degree angle, doing anything to stall. Finally, she cleared her throat, sipped on tea, cleared her throat again and said, "Angel, I need you to read my thoughts."

Suddenly, Angel could see again. A wave of emotion washed over her, and she gripped the table to hold onto reality. Her head fell into her arms on the table as she acquired the Flock's daily dose of sadness, disappointment and disconnection.

"Is this punishment?" she asked.

"No! I'm sorry, I was supposed to hold that back!" Nudge cried. "Wait, just hold on."

Slowly, the feelings receded. Angel raised her head and wiped her tears. "Better," she said, sounding like the vulnerable child she suddenly realized she was. But even with the crippling thoughts she had just experienced… all that meant was she had her power again. Jeb had let up, and she was going to use this for her advantage. She just had to wait for the right moment.

"Okay, okay, I'm ready." Nudge reached out and touched both hands to the necklace. She closed her eyes. Her breaths were slow and even.

"Okay," she said softly. "_Now_ read my mind."

Angel wished she could be one step ahead of everyone, but she had no idea what Nudge wanted to hear from her. So she waited for the incessant Nudge flow to spill something useful. In the meantime, she picked around Nudge's mind. There wasn't, however, much to pick through. Nudge's mind wasn't the icy chill of Jeb's vacuum, it was more of a lukewarm blankness.

"Channel me, Angel. Read my thoughts, what I'm feeling as I touch this."

Angel studied the necklace and Nudge's mind, trying to find a connection, but there was nothing in Nudge's mind to form a bridge.

"I… I'm not getting anything."

Nudge's eyes snapped open and looked straight to Angel's. "Exactly." Her hands retreated from the table, and her arms wrapped around her body. "Angel, you know what this necklace is, right?"

Angel searched around her _own_ mind and finally found it. "This is the necklace Fang gave Max for their first year anniversary." Max never wore it, partly because Iggy hadn't stopped giving both of them crap about it for days afterward, partly because it wasn't her style. But the necklace had meaning far beyond festooning Max's neck; it meant they had survived a year, Angel had taken a mess and made it sustainable, and wasn't everything great?

"This necklace should be filled with… with emotions. With _something_. Happiness. Love. This necklace should be overflowing, bowling you over as much as my painful thoughts did. But I don't sense that at all. I don't sense _anything_. If Max and Fang loved each other, felt as much as you told their minds to feel, there would be something more on the table than metal junk. But what you made Max and Fang feel was a thin disguise of happiness. They smiled and laughed and could have fooled a camera, but they haven't fooled me… and they haven't fooled you."

Nudge took the necklace and placed it back in her purse. She stood up, still holding herself, still looking at Angel. "You know, Angel. I know you do. What you did was wrong. And it didn't work."

Angel almost felt sorry for Nudge for being so easily manipulated. By Jeb. Obviously Jeb was selectively blocking Nudge's power; Angel had to figure out how to master that, too. But first, what she knew best.

Nudge closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, they seemed unfocused; on her lips was a small, confused smile. She giggled. "Of course I'll help you escape, Angel."

As quickly as Nudge's sentence ended, Angel's mind was cut off. Jeb rushed into the room; he threw a sad look at Angel before leading Nudge out, a comforting arm around her shoulders, whispering consolations in her ear.

Before the door shut on her only glimpse of hope, Angel heard the sobs of her sister-by-wings.

As much as it broke her heart to hear Nudge's crying, Angel knew that those tears were casualties in a war of wills. Hers against Jeb's. Hers against Max's. Where they saw evil now, they would soon learn to see compassion and reason. She just couldn't give up. Couldn't give into their tricks. It hurt to have her Flock against her, but even when they tried to break her, she saw the bigger picture and knew that her victory was for the best.

She spent the rest of the day in bed- not because she was shaken from what Nudge had told her (had lied to her about), but in order to plan her next offensive maneuver under the safety of her blankets. She went to bed early- not because it started to get that she couldn't stand being alone in her own head, with her own traitorous thoughts (_What if I'm wrong?), _but because she needed to rest in order to wake up before Jeb tomorrow. She cried herself to sleep- not because she was sad, but because... She would think of a good reason in the morning.


	3. Acceptance

**Chapter 3. Acceptance**

"How is she?"

Nudge wanted to take her little brother into her arms, but something in the Gasman's stance distanced himself. He didn't look to her, his shoulders were turned in, and his fair locks shadowed most of his face.

"She's… she's fine." Nudge tried to smile so that if the Gasman _did_ look up, he'd be met with an expression of encouragement. But her smile was wane because she knew the truth and had always been a horrible liar. Nudge cleared her throat. "I think she's getting better—"

Gazzy turned to walk out of the room. That's all he needed to hear.

* * *

"Nudge?"

"In here!"

"Where?"

"In Angel's room."

Iggy traced his finger along the painted stripe on the wall that helped him navigate the safe house. The flock had only recently moved here, preferring to transfer houses every so often because it helped assassins not kill them.

As Iggy neared the doorway, the tension thickened.

He drew a breath before passing the threshold. "Where are you?"

"On the bed. About two steps forward, three steps to your right."

"No stray objects on the floor?"

"No, Angel's really neat. Everything has a place. It's pretty neurotic for a ten year old to have labeled drawers and stuff, don't you think? I didn't even pick up my toys every day."

Iggy sat down on the bed, feeling the indent Nudge made next to him. "Yeah, well, Angel's pretty special. So. What are you doing?"

Nudge was quiet for a second before starting again, softly. "I'm not a mind reader, so this doesn't work as well and I guess there really shouldn't be any reason for me to be here, but I'm trying… I'm trying to make her not be the bad guy."

Iggy searched for Nudge's hand, found it, and squeezed. "I don't want her to be the bag guy, either."

"Because she's not evil!" Nudge insisted. "And Max doesn't think so, either. The Gasman worries, but he doesn't need to. Max doesn't think Angel's evil; she knows she was only trying to help. And now I'm in her room trying to feel… _something_."

"So what are you feeling?"

Nudge broke her hand from Iggy's and stood up. The next thing Iggy heard was the tap of her fingers on Angel's desk. "Nothing much. A little satisfaction, a lot of frustration. But not much has lingered, not enough for me to understand."

"I get it." Iggy scooted backwards till his back rested against the wall, and drew his legs on the bed to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce. "Come on. We _know_ Angel. If she did this, she thought it was right. Good intentions."

"Road to hell," Nudge snapped back. She checked herself, and her tone softened. "I mean, I _know_, but I just… I don't know. I need to justify her. If I can just get a hint of… _hesitation _or _ambivalence _or _regret_ then I can think that there's hope."

"There's hope," Iggy insisted.

"Angel's stubborn." Iggy heard Nudge's voice break and he went stiff. Nudge's voice came out so suffused with sorrow that she must've been crying and he hated that these days everyone was a toothpick's breadth away from tears. "Angel's so stubborn and as long as she's got something to hold onto, she's not letting go. I'm just so afraid that she might not let go of this, of being convinced that she's right. And then we might not…"

"Get her back." Iggy stood up. "We might not get her back, isn't that what you were going to say? She's coming back, Nudge." He stepped closer in the direction of the desk, found Nudge, and slipped his arm around her waist. "She has to."

Nudge turned around to bury her head into his chest. Yup. His shirt dampened. She was crying. His grip on her tightened.

"It won't be the same," she whispered into him.

"No." Iggy rubbed her back. "It won't be. But she'll be back. Don't worry, Nudge. We'll be whole again."

* * *

Iggy was simple. He would make subtle sexual innuendos. He would make obnoxiously obvious sexual jokes. This was, of course, not all that he was made of, but he knew that was the role that he had played opposite the Max and Fang romance, and he recalled Angel's encouraging him to play the part. He did so with gusto. He relished every opportunity to tease the two. Not because he enjoyed seeing them cringe, but because he enjoyed the small smile they shared when they thought no one was looking. He was happy that they were happy, and the way he showed his happiness was through plenty of winking and raising of eyebrows.

But now he felt dirty. He felt like he had been accomplice to a conspiracy to destroy his flock. When he saw Nudge falling apart after she visited Angel, he would hold her as though the tighter he squeezed, the less guilty he would feel. When Max put on the act of toughness and normality, he threw himself into this _new_ role, yucking it up, playing pretty much the same happy-go-lucky, careless birdkid as before, but now he knew that he was on the _right_ side. Wasn't he? The Gasman's lack of interest in the world was almost enough to convince him otherwise. That, and he remembered what it was like before all this, and he couldn't help think that it was… dammit, it was _better_.

And of course, he felt guilty for that.

So while Iggy's front was the only cheer on an otherwise icy Flock, at the end of every day, he went to his bed and he cried at how helpless he was. He didn't feel like a pansy for shedding a few tears at the situation. When your entire life is about five other people and now one of them has gone rogue and _you almost helped her_ and the remaining four are wandering, lost, trying to put themselves back together, and you're unsure as to whether that's even possible, tears aren't emasculating. They're relief of the overwhelming tension that builds up during the daylight. The sun shined, and Iggy did his best to match it, ray for ray, comforting Nudge, hanging with Fang, verbally sparring with Max, playing with Total.

Awkwardly bumping into the Gasman.

"Sorry," Gazzy muttered. Iggy heard the retreat of rapid footsteps.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. Flying."

"Anywhere but here" had been the Gasman's motto for several weeks, and the Flock had basically left him to it. Even his best friend hadn't spoken more than ten words with him the entire time Angel had been gone. When Gazzy was here, it was to fuel up and to undergo the regular physical checks for a birdkid with a possible expiration date. There was no more TV-watching, Man v. Food re-enactments, or picking on Total. The twelve-year-old might as well have left with his sister.

"Can I come with you?" Iggy asked. "Actually, forget the question. I'm coming with you."

The Gasman was silent. He could easily call Iggy's bluff because, being blind, the biggest and baddest thing Iggy could do would be to hold onto Gazzy's wings, but any quick movement would cause him to let go, and not only would he be stranded, but his plan—whatever it was—would be most ineffective considering the lack of Gasman.

Finally, the Gasman answered "Okay" and a white wing brushed the tips of Iggy's fingers.

There is something intimate about touching a birdkid's wing. The gesture's significance is amplified when the wing reaches out to you. When Iggy felt the rush of white on his skin, the softness of the feathers, he was too choked up to speak, so he just nodded and followed the Gasman out of the house and into the air.

Gazzy would occasionally make the _cluck _that told Iggy where he was, but other than that the sky was silent. Usually quick-witted, Iggy could think of absolutely nothing to say, his mind as empty as his vision. He was uncomfortable, but knew this was the best for the Gasman, so he endured silence and boredom until Gazzy spoke.

"We're going to land." Gazzy swiftly gave the coordinates so that in five minutes Iggy's feet touched solid ground. He stomped his sneakers against what felt like smooth stone. He whistled silently and its echo indicated that he was in a somehow open space (they had come from the sky) that still retained smooth walls.

"It's a church," Gazzy explained. He took Iggy's hand, and they walked along the stone. When they stopped, Gazzy tugged downward on Iggy's hand, and they both sat down.

"Do you always come here?" Iggy asked.

"Yeah," Gazzy said. "I like it here. It's pretty much abandoned during the week except one time I came during Bingo. But this is a small town, so there's not much happening except on Sunday."

"Do you come here on Sunday?" Iggy tried to think of any Sundays that Gazzy had missed. He thought of the Flock's total lack of religious teaching, and how Max had once said if there was any God he could have given her a break and taken up some of the saving-the-world burden.

"That's not why I come here. I come here because it's quiet and it's different, and occasionally there are Oreos in the cabinets."

Iggy could hear a smile in Gazzy's words, and he wanted to play off of that, to keep the smile going. But he told the truth instead.

"I'm worried about you, Gazzy."

There were a few seconds of silence. "Don't be."

"Well, it's not like I can help it. We're all worried about you, man."

"Nothing to worry about." His voice was dismissive, but Iggy didn't give up that easily.

"You can't just… leave all the time."

"I can't stay either."

"Why?"

Another pause. Then Iggy jumped as something crashed into the wall behind him and fell to the ground with a clatter.

"Because I'm pissed off." The Gasman barely had control over his words. They came out slurred and rushed, and Iggy held his breath so he wouldn't miss a thing. "I'm pissed off." Something else crashed into the wall, shattering, creating a tinkling sound as it landed on the ground. "And sometimes I get so mad, so flocking mad, but I know that I can't _do_ anything, that if I scream and yell, they'll probably just send me away, too. So I have to leave. Because if I stay… God, Iggy, I just can't."

"It's hard for us, too, Gazzy."

"You don't understand." His sentence ended forcefully. That was the end of that and Iggy would just have to deal. But Iggy had never been good at following orders, and as fed up as Gazzy was with the Flock, Iggy was with him.

"Maybe not, Gazzy." Iggy pressed his hands into the wall behind him and squared his feet. "Maybe I don't understand _your particular_ brand of pain. But I'm trying to. We're all trying. Max, Fang, Nudge and I are doing all we can to fix what Angel broke. And the more you run away, the more damage _she does_. I could tell you to get your ass out of this church and back to the house where you suck it up and tell Max you love her and accept her decision. I could _kick_ your ass out of this church to speed up the process. But I'm not going to do either of those things. I'm going to wait until you're ready to leave, and then I'm going to fly back to the house, and I'm going to return to doing my best to make things _feel_ normal, even if it's _actually_ so screwed up that you can't even look the birdkid who _raised_ you in the eye. And you… do what you feel you have to do."

Iggy circled his sneakers on the ground around him to move any shards of whatever Gazzy threw. When he'd cleared a spot, he slid down the wall to sit on the cold stone. He crossed his arms and his legs, closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, preparing for a good nap.

After an indiscriminate length of time, Iggy heard a mumble that resembled the words "I'm sorry," but nothing else until Gazzy said he wanted to leave. It was a start.

* * *

A familiar smell wafted through the safe house, permeating the walls of tension. Not completely breaking them down, but managing to get through to the bird kids who were tired of frowning and being on the verge of tears, and openly welcomed this change of pace.

Dr. M met Max's tackle-slash-hug with her own death-grip. "You okay?" she asked.

Max gave a non-committal grunt and then turned to engulf her half-sister in the kind of squeeze that would have made the Erasers turn blue for lack of oxygen.

"O-_kay!_" Ella shouted through laughs. Max let her go and took a step back to examine the normal part of her family. The part of her family that didn't have to deal with mind-invading preteens, the part that she selfishly wanted to keep for herself and not let be tainted by the terrible happenings of the past few days.

"So that's what I smelled!" Max said, catching sight of the platter of cookies Dr. M held.

Her mom smiled. "Thought you could use some chocolate comfort."

Max flashed her mom a look that she hoped was construed as both _Thank-you _and _I'd rather not talk about it, let's head into the living room and make small-talk that has nothing to do with Angel, okay?_

Dr. M's eyes narrowed, and she pressed her lips together, but Max chose to ignore the disapproval. She grabbed the tray of sweets from her mom's hands, threw her arm around Ella, and led the way to the living room.

"Max, is that-?" Iggy bounded down the stairs and grinned when he was within cookie-scent range. "Sharing is caring, Max," he said, holding out his hand.

"Hey, Iggy," Ella said. She plopped down on a couch, then reached across Max to grab a cookie of her own, ignoring the venomous look Max flashed her.

"Ella, you had five in the car," Dr. M chastised.

Iggy fell on the couch next to Ella. "Can she help it if your cookies are that amazing, Dr. M?" Shameless flattery plus mutant good looks multiplied by the patented pyromaniac pout equals excess chocolate. "I'm handicapped," Iggy added figuring pity would help his case.

Ella rolled her eyes. "You don't count, Iggy, not when you can do anything and everything better than someone with sight."

"That's right," Max said. She held the tray high above her head, and climbed to stand on the top of an arm chair. "And that logic, plus the fact that I am blood relation, plus the fact that I've saved all of your butts from certain death at least _once_, means that I get first dibs. And if my first round happens to be thirty or forty cookies, well then tough noodles."

"Can I have some?"

The Gasman's voice made the good mood in the room waver, and he knew it, and it made him mad.

Ella and Dr. Martinez weren't sure of what to do, so they traded confused glances, gulped a bunch, and attempted to smile as though nothing was wrong. Iggy coughed a few times because the silence bugged him. Max slowly climbed off the top of the chair, and sat on one of the arms. She extended the platter in the Gasman's direction.

"Take one," she offered.

Max took a cookie from the tray, and started eating it. She forced her shoulder and neck muscles to rid themselves of their tension that inevitably followed the Gasman's proximity to her. She assumed a natural stance, leaning back on one leg, chewing, murmuring compliments. _Great cookie, Mom. _Offering suggestions. _Could use more chocolate chip, though. _

But her voice sounded hollow as though it were waiting for something.

Gazzy reached out and took a cookie. He tore a bite of it. Then, softly, he said "You're nuts, Max. I think it's perfect." It was a start.

**A/N: Next chapter includes very brief Fax.**


	4. Moving Forward

**Chapter 4. Moving Forward**

Iggy and Gazzy had a running bet going. Their way to keep anxiety at bay, Nudge guessed. Nudge, though, couldn't just wave today away with a wager and a grin. Every time she saw either Max or Fang, her heart would start up and her typical blabber became incoherent.

"You ready?" was the sum of a five-minute babble of words that Nudge blurted when Fang rounded the corner.

Fang crooked an eyebrow. His way of saying, _I'm freaking out here, Nudge, help me_. Or that's how Nudge interpreted it anyway. But how could she help? She knew how he was feeling. Dangling by a thin fiber, waiting for a rope to descend. Holding onto one last breath, waiting for the _OK_ sign to release.

This was big. Their do-over. The chance to rectify their mistakes. Nudge liked to believe that this wasn't a one-time thing—if this went bad, Max and Fang could always try again—but she knew that this date was a turning point, and it had to be perfect.

"Where're you taking her? She doesn't like movies, remember? Too many people in too small a space for too long a time. She _loves_ amusement parks. And fairs and such. So where are you taking her?"

"To dinner at the best hot-dog stand in the states, and a drive-in movie."

Nudge nodded her approval. "Food for the jet-speed bird-kid metabolism, and a classic movie to mock."

"Light-years away from other people and the perfect escape route—the sky." Fang gave Nudge a small smile full of pride.

Nudge's insides relaxed their knot a little. "You still know her. I mean—I was kind of afraid. That you wouldn't know her anymore." Fang winced, and Nudge put her hand on his arm. "I shouldn't have been afraid, though. I know I can trust you to know Max. You know her better than anyone."

Was it just Nudge or did Fang's smile falter a little? His eyebrows sank over his eyes; he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"What'd I say?" Nudge's grip tightened on his arm.

"Nothing," he assured, holding up a hand to stop her worries. Then he stuffed it back into his pocket. "You just brought up old fears. Thought I'd gotten rid of them. Sucks being wrong."

"You'll be fine. Nothing will go wrong, and _everything_ will go right."

Fang gave Nudge a look that she read as _You really think so, Nudge? Don't give me false hope. Say it only if you really mean it._

Nudge gave Fang a hug. Into his shoulder she added, "And Max will fall in love with you all over again."

* * *

Silence. The kind of silence that balanced on a thin line. The kind of silence so suffused with awkwardness, no one wanted to take another step on that line for fear they might topple over.

They went to the hot dog stand, bought ten puppies with everything on it except mustard. Mustard had a tendency to get all over Fang's black attire and make him look almost cheerful so he made a point to avoid it at all costs. Max could have made a joke about this, could have taken a mustard packet and squirted him—that would have been normal for them. But she couldn't bring herself to do anything except dress her dog in ketchup with a shaky hand.

The only time either of them opened their mouth was to take a bite.

Fang coughed once, causing Max's head to snap toward him, eyes widen in hope… But Fang just covered his mouth with his hand, and cleared his throat.

_Ahem_, _ahem_.

By the time they arrived at the Drive-In, Max had bottled up so many words, she felt something pressing at the back of her throat. She considered that the pressure might have been the warning sign for tears. But that was ridiculous. The thought of her shedding tears over this mute idiot made her mad. Her rage only increased the pressure on her tongue, until finally it all came out like a soda from a shaken can.

"SAYsomething already!"

Because when it comes from Max, it's multiplied to decibels that can break the sound barrier.

Fang smirked. The emo-bird-kid equivalent of "roflmao"-ing.

"Did you really think I was gonna start the conversation?"

His voice was low, and seeping into her, sneaking into her. She hated that for a brief second she thought it was sexy, that her ears craved for more of the sound. She hated how the thoughts made her blush. She hated how uncomfortable she felt under his intensity. She wasn't used to feeling like this. Emotions made her rattled enough, Fang made her…

She shifted from foot to foot, narrowed her eyes, finally couldn't take it. "What?" she snapped. Then she checked herself, and for a second was afraid she'd screwed everything up already. But he smiled and leaned in closer.

"I'm no good at conversations. But I _can _initiate something we don't need words for."

A blush cascaded down her body, covering her in crimson from head to toe. Max pivoted on her heel to turn her back to him. She folded her arms, biting down on her lip as she said, "You just said that to mess with my head. You _love _to screw with me."

She waited for his perverted come-back that she'd inadvertently set him up for (_"No, but I'd love to screw _you_") _but instead arms enclosed around her. Years of training hadn't prepared her for affectionate embraces, but they had prepared her for choke-holds, so Max jabbed him in the gut, kicked him in the shin, and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Shit!" Physical violence could possibly hinder the budding relationship. She turned around and extended a hand to Fang, who lay on the ground, rubbing his stomach. "You know better than to sneak on me from behind. Sorry," she said, although she wasn't really sorry at all.

Fang reached for her hand, then pulled her to the ground with him and wrapped his arms around her, tight so that there was no chance of repercussion or escape. Not that she wanted to escape.

He laughed, and she felt the laugh more than she heard the laugh, because it came from deep in his gut, the same place where she was getting butterflies.

Right then, she knew it was impractical because there was no way in reality she could be certain of anything, but she felt—as if emotions could be trusted—but she _felt_ that this might actually work.

* * *

Nudge empathized with Angel. She couldn't control any part of their date, and it was hard to just let them _be_ without trying to help, but she knew that sitting back and watching Gilmore Girls re-runs was the best thing for all of them right now. She sat, and she waited.

When the two of them came home, they couldn't look at each other, and they went into their separate rooms, probably to scream out the bottled up joy. Nudge rushed to Max, and when they collided, they started squealing.

Max tried to stop herself because, honestly, what mad-scientist would fear a chick that _squealed? _But she couldn't help it, she was in love, and it might only be the beginning of something that would _become _twisted and painful, but the beginning felt pretty fricking awesome.

* * *

Gazzy knocked at Fang's door. When Fang answered, the Gasman immediately pounced. "I'm right, aren't I? Did Max hit you?"

"Ah, but you kissed her right?" Iggy came out from behind the Gasman. "_I _get five if you kissed her."

Fang didn't say anything for a while. Then, "Gazzy, give Iggy his five bucks."


End file.
